


A Force At Once More Wonderful And Terrible Than Death

by ygrainette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus is a Fabulous Troll, F/F, Femslash, Gen, References to Homophobia, implied Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ygrainette/pseuds/ygrainette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hogwarts seventh-years Iona and Chloe come out, Iona's parents are horrified and adamant that their relationship cannot be allowed to continue. But the Wylds did not bank on the intervention of Albus Dumbledore, and his determination that love should conquer all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Force At Once More Wonderful And Terrible Than Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is set around the beginning of the series, and is my attempt to imagine how Dumbledore would use his formidable reputation to defend queer Hogwarts students against the prejudices of the world (both wizarding and otherwise). Because Hogwarts is home to us _all_.
> 
> Thank you to the delightful [ atheartagentleman ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/atheartagentleman/pseuds/atheartagentleman) for beta-reading and helping conceptualise this story.
> 
> Content warning for homophobia.
> 
> I love feedback with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.

The first day back at Hogwarts is supposed to be happy. It's a day meant for running through the carriages of the Hogwarts Express, finding old friends and hugging until you can't breathe, swapping holiday stories and Chocolate Frog cards, gossiping over who's been made Prefect and who fancies who and who failed their OWLs and who the new Defence teacher is, finding out your robes are too short, laughing until you cry at your best friend's new dress robes, sizing up the wide-eyed firsties, gazing out of the train windows desperate for the first glimpse of that castle that may be a school, but is first and foremost a _home._

Hogwarts is a world unto itself, and whether you are a pureblood raised on tales of Peeves and secret passageways or a Muggle-born still pinching yourself when you see the ceiling of the Great Hall, it will always be like something out of a dream. A castle that for a thousand years has been alive with magic and the joy and energy and high-strung dramatics of teenagers growing into adults.

The first day back is exhausting and overwhelming but above all that, it is exhilarating, it is reassuring, it is beautiful.

Except this year.

Because this year, the first day back finds Iona Wyld crying hysterically in the rose garden while Chloe Howard holds her close, murmuring "It's gonna be okay" over and over, willing herself to believe it.

"I thought they wouldn't – I can't believe they – oh Merlin, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Chlo."

Iona is near incoherent, so far from her usual bounce and chatter that it scares Chloe. Scares her even more than the rest of this whole sorry situation, which is saying something.

She kneads Iona's shoulder, presses a kiss into the crook of her neck, tries to sound calm when she says, "It's not your fault. I never thought they'd be like this, either."

After six years she knows things in the wizarding world are _different_ , and she knows coming out doesn't always go smoothly anyway, but hell. The Wylds are purebloods, but they're not the frothing-at-the-mouth full-on racist types. She's known them for years, for heaven's sake, stayed with Iona for two weeks this last August. When she got straight Os in the OWLs they even sent her a beautiful first edition of Selene Starr's _History of Astronomy_ and about ten tonnes of magic sweets. They might have been a little perplexed, a little awkward around her parents, and Chloe and Iona might have spent that fortnight sneaking kisses and jumping at footsteps on the floorboards, but she'd never, _never_ thought Walton and Harmony Wyld capable of this.

"What are we going to do? What are we going to _do?_ "

It's always been Chloe who has the answers, always Chloe who knows what to do.

It had been Chloe who sat Iona down and made her practise her way past her mental block on Transfiguration, who ran interference and cast Shielding Charms when their friends Earlene and Aimee had a gigantic falling-out over Danny McKinnon, whose revision schedule, Cheering Charms, and her mother's homemade cookies got Iona through the OWLs.

And of course, when they were fifteen, it had been Chloe who took that first step into the unknown, gathered up her courage, and kissed Iona. It had been Chloe who, after studying their year's troublemakers, worked out a system to sneak out of their dormitories and to various opportune late-night-liaison spots (the rose garden was still their favourite) without being caught. It had been Chloe who found the words to tell Earlene and Aimee, a white-knuckled confession over Butterbeer that ended in laughter and just a few relief-tears. It had been Chloe who told her parents about the two of them last Christmas, cool as you please, and then followed up by convincing her bemused mother not to tell Iona's parents.

In the end it had been Iona who first said _I love you_ , whispered into Chloe's ear as they lay next to the lake, one lazy summer day after they finished their OWLs. But overall – it's Chloe who figures out the plan, Chloe who sees where they're headed, Chloe who gets them through. Maybe it's a Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw thing, maybe it's just an Iona and Chloe thing, either way, it doesn't really matter –

But this time, she doesn't have a clue.

They'd expected Mr and Mrs Wyld to be taken aback, they'd never thought Iona telling her parents would go as smoothly as Chloe telling hers. Chloe had been braced for consternation and push-back and general parental chilliness. This, though? This reaction, this fury, this _ultimatum_? It hadn't crossed either of their minds that the Wylds could stoop so low.

Usually, Chloe likes to think she's pretty clear-headed, rational, able to cope with more or less anything that comes her way. Six years of Hogwarts is enough to teach any Muggle-born how to just roll with the strange and unexpected, after all. But now she feels like she's staring down the barrel of a gun, sick and dizzy with adrenaline, heart skipping a beat at even the thought of having to choose between Hogwarts (her home, her _world_ ) and Iona (her best friend, her _love_ ).

"What are we going to do?" Iona says again, and her voice is somehow pale-sounding, drained and faded from the tears.

Chloe shuts her eyes, and says the only thing she can think of. "Dumbledore will sort it out. He'll sort it. He has to."

 _Please_ , she thinks, and it feels like a prayer.

* * *

"Ah, yes, how lovely to see you again, Harmony, Walton – do sit down – and would you care for a humbug?"

There is something about being back at Hogwarts that always makes you feel like a child again. Seeing the great towers silhouetted against the evening sky, the lake and the Forbidden Forest, the Entrance Hall with its four hourglasses counting the House points – it's like time unspools itself and all the years between leaving and returning never happened. And just like the school itself, the Headmaster, too, has a way of wiping out those intervening years and making you a child again.

No matter how long it's been, or how illustrious your post-Hogwarts career, those bright eyes twinkling over the gold-rimmed half-moons as he smiles gently and proffers a sweet, well, they'll turn you right back into a star-struck twelve-year-old.

Disconcerting, to say the least, when you are forty-five and run your own broomstick-repair business and are here to discuss _your sixteen-year-old daughter_ (and Merlin, when did _that_ happen?).

"No, no thank you, Professor," Walton Wyld says firmly, determined not to let Dumbledore baby them. He's seen the man deal with shrewd Ministry bureaucrats and gimlet-eyed career politicians and hardened Gringotts curse-breakers and, without fail or any apparent effort, turn them all back into children overawed by The Headmaster. If he's still intimidated by Dumbledore's treasure trove of an office, he won't show it, and he won't be wound around his little finger.

"Be a devil," Dumbledore is urging them, as the little bowl of sweets hovers closer.

"Thank you, but really," Walton tries to say, and Harmony adds, "I'm sorry, I've never really liked Muggle sweets."

The bowl of humbugs swoops back to sit on Dumbledore's desk, only for another bowl to reappear in midair. "In that case, you are in luck. I recently received a most generous gift from Honeydukes – can I tempt you to a Fizzing Whizbee? Or would you prefer a Cockroach Cluster?"

"We didn't come here to eat sweets," Walton says through his teeth.

"Of course," Dumbledore says mildly, smiling at them over his desk. "And yet, there are some pleasures in life, some distractions, which it is always worth taking one's time to enjoy. I personally find confectionary, as with music, to be one such pleasure, don't you agree?"

"Er –"

Harmony reaches out to take a Fizzing Whizbee, shooting a glance at her husband that clearly says, _just humour him_. Reluctantly, Walton also accepts one of the sweets. As Dumbledore beams, he gets the distinct feeling that he has somehow lost control of this conversation.

There is a long pause, punctuated only by the sucking of sweets, as the Wylds wait for Dumbledore to get to business. Apparently oblivious to their impatience, the Headmaster simply twiddles his thumbs, gazing at them with a faint smile.

After several awkward minutes, enough is enough. Walton leans forwards, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "If we may discuss what we wrote to you about –"

"But of course." Dumbledore steeples his fingers. "Though I confess myself a mite confused as to the _exact_ nature of your concern ..."

Walton does a small double-take. _A mite confused?_ Dumbledore's always been an eccentric, and it stands to reason he'll only get more so with age, but really? _Really_? Is the man senile? For a moment he is struck speechless, and Harmony says sharply, "Professor, this Muggle-born girl, Chloe Howard –"

"I am familiar with Miss Howard." Is he imagining it, or is Dumbledore's voice losing its usual undertow of gentle humour?

He feels Harmony tense beside him. "She – has been –"

She breaks off, and Walton squeezes her hand as he picks up the lost thread of the discussion. "Chloe Howard has been taking advantage of our daughter, encouraging her in this _perversion –"_

The humour is certainly gone from Dumbledore's voice, but it remains mild, calm. The voice of a teacher who knows he _will_ get to the bottom of whatever fresh mischief his charges have wrought. "Really? My word, I was given to understand Miss Howard and your daughter are merely engaged in a little teenage romance, quite par for the course at Hogwarts, I'm sure you'll recall."

"A little – it's _unnatural!"_ Walton hears his voice hit an embarrassingly shrill note and can't bring himself to care.

"Unnatural? You may be right," the Headmaster says, and for a second Walton thinks, with some satisfaction, that they are finally headed in the right direction. Then Dumbledore picks up one of the intricate little devices on his desk and continues, studying the interlocking and ever-whirring wheels, "Then again, we must ask ourselves: what _is_ natural? What does one mean by _unnatural_? From a certain point of view, we spend our lives doing nothing but unnatural things ... this castle, our magic, your Fizzing Whizbees, all could be considered unnatural. And yet, who among us would willingly give up his or her Fizzing Whizbee?"

Yes, Walton realises, he has _definitely_ lost control of the conversation.

"Professor!" Harmony snaps, and he looks up at her over his glasses, his expression politely attentive, and maddeningly calm. "There must be – you must have _rules_ against this sort of behaviour! My daughter, she must be protected, you can't allow this sort of thing to go on under your roof –"

"As far as I am aware, neither Miss Howard nor your daughter Iona have broken any school rules," Dumbledore says, and then adds with a smile, "I must admit, this is the first time I have ever been visited by parents insisting their child _has_ broken a rule. Quite the novelty."

That does it. "You mean to say," Walton snarls, "that this school does not forbid such – such perversion –"

The Headmaster does not even blink, says smoothly, "As you are no doubt aware, there are no laws, wizarding or otherwise, forbidding such relationships, Mr Wyld. As such, I feel it is none of the school's concern –"

" _None of the –"_ Walton breaks off, too livid to finish without shouting or throwing something across the room. He has his dignity to maintain, damn it all.

Thankfully, Harmony steps in, saying through her teeth, "Professor, Hogwarts has rules prohibiting any lewd behaviour –"

"Ah, yes." He smiles at them indulgently. "I must say we only enforce this rule in cases of students engaging in – ah – _indiscreet_ displays of affection. A castle full of teenagers, I am afraid my staff would have no time to devote to teaching if we were to hold our students to the letter of the law in this case."

"But –"

"As I'm sure you'll agree, at such an age, we were all given to such follies. Why," and here Dumbledore pauses, takes another humbug, and leans his head back to study his ceiling, "I myself recall a young Hufflepuff couple given _several_ detentions apiece in their seventh year after Professor Merryweather stumbled upon them – how may I put it –"

"Yes, yes, you've made your point," Walton says hurriedly. A quick glance to his left tells him his wife is blushing crimson, and from the heat in his cheeks, he guesses he is just as red.

"Excellent," Dumbledore says politely, smiling at them again. "You will be glad to hear that there have been no similar incidents involving your daughter, so I believe we may call the matter closed."

"We most certainly may not." She may still be beetroot-red, but Walton can tell his wife means business as she leans forward in her chair, outright glaring at the Headmaster. "Chloe Howard has been _corrupting_ my daughter, taking _advantage_ of her, and I want you to take _action!_ I don't want her under the same roof as Iona, do you hear me?"

"I do beg your pardon, Mrs Wyld." He may still be smiling, but there is ice in Dumbledore's voice now, unmistakeable ice. "For a moment, I thought you were suggesting I expel Miss Howard."

Walton bursts out, "Damn right she was!"

Another long, long pause, as Dumbledore's eyes, no longer bright and warm but pale and fierce, come to rest on Walton. He speaks slowly, quietly, with absolute conviction. "Chloe Howard is an outstanding student, an exemplary Prefect for Ravenclaw house, and a credit to Hogwarts. She has broken no rules, she has done nothing wrong. She will leave this school at the end of this, her seventh year, if I am right with five top-grade NEWTs, and not a moment before. Have I made myself clear?"

Ringing silence.

Then Walton hears himself say, as if from faraway, "Then we will take Iona home with us. You heard my wife, she won't be under the same roof –"

He stops short as Dumbledore rises to his feet. "That is, of course, your prerogative as Iona's parents. However, in two weeks your daughter comes of age, and her continued place at this school will be guaranteed. Hogwarts will accept her as long as she wishes to attend. If you are so willing to alienate your daughter over whom she chooses to love, that too is your prerogative."

He extends a hand, and the door to the office swings open, an obvious dismissal. "Good day."

* * *

Iona has never been in the Headmaster's office before. Chloe, who has because she's a Prefect, told her she doesn't _think_ they're in trouble, but Iona couldn't tell anything from the curt little note summoning them. As much as she wants to believe it's not trouble, her heart is pounding alarmingly, and she suspects Chloe was just trying to calm her down.

The Headmaster is smiling when he welcomes them into the study, offering them sweets which Iona feels too nervous to even consider. Even if she's not about to be expelled, it probably isn't the best idea to throw up on the Headmaster. She just sits down, wipes her palms on her robes, and concentrates on breathing through her nose.

From the foul mood her parents were in yesterday (that and the fact Chloe was still at Hogwarts), she figures they didn't get what they wanted from Dumbledore. That should fill her with hope, except that he's probably going to give them a lecture and tell them they're perverted and unnatural and they have to break up and –

"Miss Wyld, Miss Howard, let me first assure you that you are not in trouble," comes the Headmaster's gentle voice.

It's quiet and gentle and it's a lifeline. Iona's head snaps up. "We're _not_?"

Since she first arrived at Hogwarts, eleven years old and starry-eyed, Dumbledore has been like a distant, brilliant, unfathomable god. All-knowing, all-powerful, the man her mother calls _the greatest wizard ever born._ And now he is sitting not two feet away, ice-blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on her. And he says firmly, "No, Miss Wyld. For you and Miss Howard have done nothing wrong."

"My – my parents don't think that," she says shakily, because she can't quite dare to believe this is actually happening. It's all going to be some awful elaborate trick.

Dumbledore sighs, and his voice is filled with genuine sorrow. "It is one of the hardest lessons every young person must learn – that one's parents are not infallible, that they are subject to the same short-sighted prejudices as any other men and women. Allow me to assure you both that, despite the efforts of Miss Wyld's parents, this school will take no sanctions against either of you." He hesitates, then looks at Iona. "Miss Wyld, your parents may remove you from school, but when you come of age, we shall be delighted to have you back, and to provide you with whatever support you may need."

Iona's breath catches. Beside her, Chloe presses their knees together, and Iona is hit, as she sometimes is, by just how much she loves Chloe. _My best friend, my lover, my rock_ , she thinks. And this – this stay of execution Dumbledore has given them, so they don't have to choose between Hogwarts and each other – all of a sudden she is overcome.

Luckily, Chloe is composed as ever. "Thank you, Professor," she says, and her voice is controlled, but Iona thinks anyone could hear the undercurrents of fervent, powerful gratitude.

The Headmaster smiles at them, eyes a-twinkle over his gleaming glasses, and all of a sudden he isn't just the venerable, famously wise and powerful old wizard. He's human, and his eyes are so kind, filled with so much compassion, and for a moment Iona feels she's looking at her own old grandfather, dead and gone though he is.

"There may be hard times ahead for you both," he says, and then his voice becomes a little faraway. "I found out myself, as a young man, that some will hate and fear love they see as different, love between two boys, or two girls ..." He looks away, gazing out of a window, or perhaps further, Iona thinks, perhaps gazing into his past. She hardly dares breathe.

Then Dumbledore turns back to them, and he is smiling gently, and Iona doesn't think she's imagining the tears sparkling in his eyes. "I want you to know that I will do everything within my power to protect and aid you, at this school and beyond. Love is, I believe, the greatest and most powerful force of magic in the world. I am powerless to erase hatred from the hearts of the close-minded, but while I remain Headmaster, there will _always_ be shelter at Hogwarts for _all_ those who love."

Somehow Iona manages to say, "Thank you, Professor, thank you so very much," past the obstruction in her throat. When she glances to her side, Chloe is crying silently. Iona takes her hand, squeezes, and Chloe gives her a smile through her tears. Then, gripped with sudden boldness, she leans forward to kiss her lips swiftly.

The Headmaster chuckles, shaking his head. "Ah, young love, a magic beyond any we can teach. Now, be off with you. Professor Flitwick will be expecting you for Charms."

They make their exit, thanking Dumbledore again – Iona thinks she will thank Dumbledore for this as long as she lives – and head off through the familiar corridors of their castle-home. There is a sweet taste in the back of Iona's mouth, for the first time since she told her parents and her mother started crying while her father ranted and raved. She thinks it's the taste of _hope_.

And Albus Dumbledore wipes his eyes, strokes his pet phoenix with the back of his hand, thinks of the cruel, brilliant boy he once loved, and the brave young girls who left his office with their heads once again held high. He says quietly to the great red-gold bird, "Well, Fawkes ... we may not have won the war, but we won this battle. And for today, for these girls, I think that's enough."


End file.
